


Take a Sip, Babe

by WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs



Category: Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: Aftercare, Canon-Typical Relationship, Emetophilia, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, Milk Chugging, One-Sided Kink Play, Showers, Trans Female Character, Under-negotiated Kink, Vomiting, induced vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 06:58:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16635098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs/pseuds/WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs
Summary: “Do you remember... in the eighth grade, when we were invited to that “end of the year” house party?”“I try not to, but yeah.”“That night, I discovered something about myself... and I've never been able to stop thinking about it.”





	Take a Sip, Babe

**Author's Note:**

> kinda wanted there to be more of an introduction to my trans kinga headcanon, but this isnt the fic to do it. besides; ain't like max don't know, they grew up together ffs.  
> keep in mind im a trans guy writing a trans girl character. forgive my ignorance if somethings wrong.
> 
> this is a vomit fetish fic. also deals with canon-typical max/kinga relationship (sorta), and consensual but one-sided kink play (it's kinga's thing, not really max's)

Max always cherishes any time he gets to be alone with Kinga in silence. It's one of the few opportunities he has for any kind of intimacy with her, what with her general repulsion for physical affection. Granted, she doesn't see it that way, but for him, it's one of the nicest parts of his day. 

It's during one of those rare quiet nights in the lab that Kinga brings it up. 

“Do you remember... in the eighth grade, when we were invited to that “end of the year” house party?”

He sighs. “I try not to, but yeah.” How could he forget? It was one of the worst nights of his life. 

In an attempt to impress Kinga (that utterly failed), he tried to take part in one of the many drinking games that were going on concurrently throughout the house. It was humiliating; after only a cup or two, he had to tap out. They barely left the table before he started feeling nauseous. And for the remainder of the evening, the two of them were staked out in the downstairs bathroom, Max vomiting, sobbing, and apologizing to Kinga for ruining her night. She hadn't said a word in that time (or at least, not one that he could remember), and he always assumed it was because she was disgusted with him. 

“That night, I discovered something about myself... and I've never been able to stop thinking about it.”

He's intrigued, and startled when he realizes Kinga is already by his side. Her grip on his shoulder is tight, but the hand running up his chest and cupping his cheek is so light. It's a move that's very Kinga. 

“A fantasy I've had,” she continues, and suddenly Max can't breathe. “And I want you to help me with it.”

“God, yes!” he practically cuts her off in his excitement. He was so hoping she'd say something like that, and now that she has he almost can't believe it. “Anything!” 

“I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Max.”

Perhaps, in his eagerness, he should have thought this through a little more... Why would Kinga bring up _that_ memory specifically if it didn't relate to what she was planning? 

Kind of an inconvenient time to be having second thoughts, when they're already stripping down in the bathroom with a gallon of milk waiting for them.   
Now was probably the best time to get his questions out. 

“Why are we doing this here?” he's seated at the edge of the tub, halfway through taking his shirt off, and looking up at Kinga doing the same. 

“Easier clean-up afterwards, duh.” she scoffs, “Why, would you rather being doing this in your bed?” 

“I mean, yeah, kind of.” She tosses her shirt at his head in retaliation. He hears the slight huff of laughter from her before he's able to shake it off. 

“And _why_ am I doing this again?”

“Because you _love me._ ” she pokes him in the chest and says it so matter-of-factly, and he tilts his head to concede. She's not wrong. 

“And because...” she sighs and pulls herself up to sit on the sink, thinking over her words. “Look, I'll just say... I owe you, after this. This is something I've been wanting for years, and if you help me see it through... I'll do something for you. Something you want.” 

Max appreciates that, and definitely intends to take her up on that offer. They sit in silence a moment longer before Max asks his final question, “...You really want this, don't you?”

Her cheeks flush red and she lets slip a small grin. “More than you could imagine.” 

He nods. “Well, then I'm glad I can help.” 

She smiles fondly at him, then hops off the counter and kisses him. She pulls back and whispers a quick “ _thanks,_ ” in the most genuine tone he's ever heard from her. It's a rare moment of tenderness from Kinga, and _of course_ it comes from the weirdest thing she's ever asked of him. 

Though he wants to just stare into her eyes forever, Kinga won't allow that, and quickly kills the tender moment by giving Max a slight shove, nearly knocking him back into the tub. He quickly catches himself as Kinga resumes her undressing. 

“Hurry up, stupid, get naked and get in the tub.” 

If there's one part of this he likes so far, it's the Kinga part, of course. 

She has no shame in stripping down in front of him, despite the slight quiver in her hands. It's the excitement, the anticipation that's causing it. Her excitement is contagious, it seems, and is affecting him much in the same way it is her. The edges of apprehension mix with the beginnings of arousal, leaving him with a confusing underlying feeling almost like... nausea? 

_Supposes he'll use that to his advantage, for Kinga._

Kinga lifts the milk carton with one hand and gestures to Max. “In the tub, you.” Just that little order gets an interested twitch from his crotch. Once he's in, Kinga climbs in after him, seated in his lap with her cock pressed against his belly. It's a tight fit, but one that's more comfortable than stifling. 

She practically slams the gallon on the side of the tub. “Time to get to work,” she says with that typical Forrester evil smirk. 

He still hesitates in taking it from her, and again once he's got the top off and takes the first sip. It's still cold, thankfully; he wouldn't be able to stand it if it were any warmer. Just the thought room temperature or warmer milk makes his stomach flip. _Another thing to use to his advantage._

He feels like he's practically drained the carton since he began, but in examining it, he's not even down the label. Brings him back to that one night in the eighth grade all over again; feeling like he's drunk gallons, yet barely making a dent. 

“How ya feelin'?” Kinga asks, both her hands resting on his belly now. 

“Full,” he admits. And as he says it, a little burp slips out that he immediately tries to stifle in his hand. Yet Kinga's already heard it, and laughs, and Max feels his face burning red. So far, _that's_ the most embarrassing thing he's done all night. 

“Good,” Kinga still kisses him on the mouth anyway, “You won't for much longer. Keep going.”

The carton at least gets easier to lift and hold on to the further he goes. Offers him a bit of help, as he feels the heaviness of the milk settling and unsettling in his stomach. He finally needs to take a break when he feels the first wave of nausea, like something might finally come up. 

“Kinga...” he whimpers her name in warning as he feels the coldness crawling back up his throat, and it's a sound that gets a full body shiver from Kinga. Her moan mimics his own, and when he thinks she might just moan out his name, it hits. 

The first mouthful slithers up his throat and out his mouth like a sludge. He can barely see it as it runs down his chin, but he can smell it; _rancid,_ already souring. He tries to spit to get it out of his mouth, yet just ends up drooling even more. 

Despite all that, Kinga still touches him (and herself), and runs a hand through it, wiping his chin clean. 

With a breathless sigh she urges him on. “Keep going, Max,” and he watches as her hands swap positions, now smearing the thick, off-white vomit on her cock. 

He nods and reaches for the jug again, trying to will his stomach to settle enough to get more down. He takes a breath, clears his throat, and tries again. Despite his attempts to take bigger gulps, he doesn't get as much down before he feels it coming up again. 

He's barely able to drop the carton from his lips before he's coughing. His heaves cause him to lurch forward, and he's unable to open his eyes until he's caught his breath. When he does, he sees he's spit and sputtered droplets of soured milk right on her breasts. 

Just as he's about to croak out an apology, Kinga grabs him by the back of his neck and smashes her lips into his. It makes them both groan, but for different reasons. 

“Kinga,” his voice is already growing hoarse, “that's so... _gross._ ”

Then he sees that look in her eyes, the glossy, glazed over stare that signals that she's gone. The way that grin creeps up and grows larger, and the husky tone in her voice when she says: “ _I know._ ”

For the first time since they started, Max is reminded of his arousal Kinga feels it too, evidently, if her pleased hum and further squirming on top of him is any indication. His cock lines right up with her ass, and although they aren't prepared for any penetration to take place, it ends up being perfect for mindless, frantic, rutting against one another. 

And it's Kinga that really gets Max going (as per usual); the way she bites her lip to stifle a sound, the strong grip she keeps on his shoulder to steady herself, the shaky, erratic rhythm of her hips that gives away her inexperience. Even the sharp firm tugs she uses on her own cock—no doubt the same way she does it in private. 

For a time, Max thinks he might also be able to get off from all this. Just as he lets his eyes fall closed and her name falls from his lips, Kinga, of course, kills the moment. 

“ _One more, one more for me, Max..._ ” she doesn't even ask, yet forces her fingers into his mouth. They slip to the back of his throat and press down, twitching and thrusting like some awful creature trying to squirm inside him. 

Before he can get a hand on her to urge her to stop (or at least, ease up), everything comes flooding out of his mouth—or at least, attempts to. The combined force of his retching and Kinga's hand blocking one exit leaves him with vomit dripping from his nose. 

Thankfully Kinga moves her hand out of the way just as he lurches forward. Yet in the same motion he feels that hand move to tangle in his hair instead, pulling him closer to her body. He can't see a thing, but from all the other sensations—the closeness of Kinga's body to his, the way she almost whines his name, the fact that most of what he's expelled doesn't land on himself...

It all hits Kinga. When he's finally able to wipe away tears and let his vision readjust, he sees that Kinga is mostly covered in it. All the way down her front, the thickness of it doing nothing to help it not slither down her body, stick to her pubes, and coat her cock and the hand wrapped around it. 

He at least gets to watch as she finishes, her movements frantic and sloppy, made all the more obscene by the _sounds_ the additional lubrication provides. Her free hand claws at her breasts as she cums, arching her back and howling to the ceiling. 

And of course it all lands on him. It's the least disgusting thing to have happened tonight. 

Max is still left coughing and sniffling for a time afterwards, trying to clear his airway of everything blocking it. It's humiliating to do in front of Kinga, and a scene reminiscent of that same night so long ago. Yet she continues to surprise him with her seeming indifference to it. 

“Get up, stupid.” Even with her voice still heavy and breathy, she takes an authoritative tone and doesn't ask. But she does help him up on shaky legs. He doesn't straighten up immediately, and when he tries to he finds his gut is starting to cramp up. The shock of cold water when Kinga turns the tap doesn't help either. 

It still feels nice to wash everything away. Even if it's a disgusting sight seeing everything pool and pile at their feet as it's washed away. Gross. 

Whether Kinga's realized it or not, she's allowed Max to continue clinging to her side. Max decides not to comment on it, lest she put an end to it. He'd rather take all the time he can to enjoy it in silence. 

Until the silence becomes too awkward as Kinga doesn't say a word. Max hates to be the one to break it, but he has to. 

“So,” his voice cracks and he has to clear his throat. Good start. “H-how was it for you?”

Kinga laughs, but it's mostly at his choice of words. But she nods and concedes. “Good. Really, really good.”

Just that bit of praise makes him perk up again. “Really?”

“Yes, _really._ ” Kinga puts an end to the praise and his excitement by popping the shower head off the stand and spraying it in his face. It makes him sputter and recoil and she laughs again. Max can't help but laugh too. 

“You're such a jerk, sometimes.” 

“Only sometimes?” Kinga plays mock offended as she returns the head to its stand. When she turns to him again, it's to kiss him. Another slow, sweet, tender kiss, ending when she pulls apart and whispers, “Thanks again.”

Just that phrase leaves Max beaming. “Hearing that makes it all worth it.” 

If there was one part of this he liked, it was Kinga. 

She's always much more receptive to physical touch after an encounter like that. “Much more” meaning “at all.” But the contact in the shower afterwards, the way she lets him hold her hand as they return, in towels, to Max's room; it's far more than she usually lets him get away with. And he suspects she actually enjoys it, at least for the time being. She even hesitates in immediately leaving after he's situated. 

“Kinga... if it's not too much to ask... could you, uhm...”

Kinga huffs. “You want me to hold you?” 

“...Yes.” he bashfully admits. 

Kinga gives an overly dramatic sigh. “I mean, _I guess._ ” It's a move that makes them both chuckle. She climbs into bed with him, upper half perched up on the pillows, and allows Max to get comfortable. And he is: tucked under her arm and head on her chest. He absolutely melts. Like he could fall asleep at any moment. Before that, though, he wants to try and push his luck...

“Kinga...”

“Hm?”

“Could you also... maybe...”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm on it.” And she is; free hand on his stomach and rubbing in wide circles. As if he couldn't get any happier. 

“Thank you, Kinga.”

“Shut up.”

**Author's Note:**

> fun personality quiz: what's your favorite thing to vomit? mine is ice cream. ~~thats why i wrote about milk. eyyyy lmao~~
> 
> the whole time i was writing this i kept thinking of that one simpsons line: _"you were asked to chug-a-lug, and a-lug you shall chug."_ half tempted to name the fic that. another alt title: "got milk?"


End file.
